


And There Will I Be Buried

by ObliObla



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hair Washing, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Shower Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Chloe never quite realized how large Lucifer’s bed really is. When they stay at the penthouse, they sleep, most often, pressed against each other, and even when she gets too warm he’s never far away.The inches are torturous now.Why did she ever agree to this damn game?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWillowBends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWillowBends/gifts).

> Thank you [Miah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miah_Arthur/pseuds/Miah_Arthur) for making sure this was ok!

> Entreat me not to leave you,
> 
> or turn back from following you;
> 
> for where you go, I’ll go,
> 
> and where you stay, I’ll stay;
> 
> your people will be my people,
> 
> and your God, my God.
> 
> Where you die, I will die,
> 
> and there will I be buried.

Ruth 1:16-17

* * *

Chloe never quite realized how large Lucifer’s bed really is. When they stay at the penthouse, they sleep, most often, pressed against each other, and even when she gets too warm he’s never far away.

The inches are torturous now.

She is lying near the edge of the mattress, one leg up, foot pressed firmly against the sheets; her other leg is flat on the bed, extending into the space between them, the muscles twitching slightly. She slides her thumb over her clit with unerring speed, her fingers pressed firmly to her entrance. Her other hand pinches her nipples lightly, scratches the valley between her breasts, splays across her stomach to feel the rhythmic tightening of her abdomen. But it longs to reach across sateen sheets, to find flesh torrid with exertion and hellfire, and bring it between her legs instead.

Because Lucifer is moaning, deep and needy, his breaths whining out of him as he pants, lying on his side, hand fisted in the sheets. And every moan makes Chloe clench around nothing. Every long pull on his lovely, thick cock makes her imagine him sliding into her, hot and slick and wanting, hips against hips—her eyes rolling up, toes curling from the sheer pleasure of it.

But this is the game they’re playing: no touching but themselves and they _must_ touch themselves. First one to cross the finish line loses, as Lucifer put it, back when Chloe thought this would be easy, simple, maybe even a little boring.

It is none of those things.

Lucifer’s hips begin to jerk into his motion, sharp, short groans torn from his throat as his cheeks color. The flush spreads prettily down his neck, his chest, over all that skin she desperately wants to touch, but can’t. And she can’t look away, even as the sweet pressure builds between her legs, and she shudders into the feeling of it.

His torso flexes as he approaches the verge, half-lidded eyes sparking with fire, jaw going slack, a single word groaning in the air like it’s been stolen from the deepest, most secret part of him.

“_Chloe._”

And she gasps at the aching tenderness of it, at the way his roughened moans break over her mind. Her thumb strokes faster, her fingers press deeper, and her other hand comes up to grasp her breast. She starts to rock into the sensation as his feet scramble for purchase against the sheets, his eyes flying open, filled with flames and immolating her with his unblinking, ardent stare.

She shudders, heartbeat load in her ears, more than ready to fall after him—so close, so close, _so close_—but he bites his lip, tightens his grip around the base of his cock, and holds himself on that edge. The fires slowly bank in his eyes, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Doing alright over there, darling?” he asks lightly as she tries to slow her rapid panting, torn from the edge so thoroughly it almost hurts, throbbing in her veins. And _damn him_ for sounding almost unaffected.

“I’m _great_,” she grinds out, flexing her fingers, feeling bereft and denied and vaguely sticky.

He splays out onto his back, tilting his head lazily toward her, looking at her through his long eyelashes. The flames may have died, but his eyes are black and shining as the stars in the meager light coming in through the curtains. He glows, ever so slightly, from the sheen of sweat on his flawless skin, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders, the tautness of his muscles, the sharpness of his hipbones, and he might, in this moment, be the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

She forgets her own need, for the moment, to simply watch the well-crafted lines of him as he stretches out, his gorgeous cock pressed tightly to the hard planes of his stomach, and she licks her lips idly at the sight.

“Ready to try again?” he asks, cocky, in a voice like honey at her lips she isn’t allowed to taste, like an apple on a tree she isn’t allowed to pick.

She thinks she must have given him a shaky nod, as his eyes slip closed, and he presses his head back into the pillows, his throat bared and quivering. She watches it bob when he swallows, and she wants her teeth in it.

A soft, needy sound escapes her lips, and he smiles faintly, before he strokes his hand over his chest and abs and begins again. He circles the head of his cock with his thumb, hips undulating, gathering the slickness there, and slides his talented fingers down the shaft, past the carefully trimmed dark hair, and down further.

Her fingers find her clit again without her permission and map out a slow, jerky rhythm against her overloaded nerves that begins to speed up when she’s met with the intensity of her readiness. The strictures of the game seem less and less important the more she touches, the more she watches.

Chloe can’t see what’s happening between Lucifer’s legs, but when he chokes on a breath and his back arches, pulling his lineaments into sharp and stunning relief, she thinks she can guess. Her muscles tighten in a sympathetic response, and she wants to donate her own wetness to his cause. To sink down onto him and reach beneath. To fill him as he has filled her.

But she is not allowed, so she grits her teeth against that desire and refocuses on what she _is_ permitted: to look, to listen, to imagine.

He hums throatily as his fingers rub tight circles against his entrance, and the lower half of his body pulls up into the sensation, feet finding purchase against the sheets to allow him leverage.

But it’s not enough. She can feel it as keenly as she feels her own need to be more thoroughly filled than her fingers can manage. Her desires echo back to her, and they’re so attuned, now, even though they still haven’t touched, that she knows he feels it too—a simulacrum of his power that doesn’t sway her until she allows it.

But she’ll gladly let him pull her in.

He turns to face her, and she rolls to join him, but still not _quite_ touching. The narrowed distance between them aches and shudders along her nerves, but their eyes meet and it is enough. He starts to stroke himself, again, in time with her own increasingly frantic motions, brings the fingers of his clean hand to his lips, and sucks them into his mouth.

She moans and parts her legs wantonly, trying to improve the angle, reaching more deeply into herself. The nails of her free hand scratch against the sateen, grasping for some semblance of stability. But it’s denied her.

Lucifer withdraws his fingers with a final, sensuous lick, and trails them over a nipple, over his hip. He stretches his leg out in front of him, and a brief look of concentration passes over his face before it’s outshone by bliss. He groans with a sound so filled with yearning and need she knows it will haunt her dreams.

Chloe’s eyes roll up into her head for a moment before she shifts forward, close enough, now, that she can feel the heat radiating off him as he presses and pulls himself to new heights. She grinds her clit into the sheets, against her fingers, and a whine is drawn from her throat.

She’s so close, her pulse thrumming in her center, in her fingertips, but there’s still something missing, and she forces words past her lips. “Lucifer, _please_…”

And he is with her, though his rhythm is faltering, and his gaze is hazy. “What do you need?” he moans through harsh breaths.

“Y-you.”

“I’m here,” he pants, he chants, with a surety that tears into her soul and bares it to the universe itself, but she can’t be afraid when she knows that he is _here_, and he isn’t going anywhere. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

“_Ngh_…” She presses her face into the pillow, lips working uselessly against it, the sort of kiss that almost hurts in her inability to press it where she desires. And, suddenly, she is standing on the cliff, and all she needs is a push.

“I-I love you,” he chokes out, abruptly, like he can’t hold it in any longer, sounding just as wrecked as she is, clinging to that same high place by nothing but his fingertips.

Everything is teetering, narrowing, pulling taut. Her jaw is clenched, and she can hardly pull in air. Her eyes shut tightly, her ears fill with static, and all she can hear, in this moment, is an aching, breathy, “_Chloe_.”

And she is falling, buffeted by drafts and aftershocks, lightning arcing up into her womb, warmth spreading through her limbs.

When she comes back to something like awareness, a broken, desperate keen that speaks of pleasure so sweet it’s almost turned to pain is echoing in the air, and she realizes it’s coming from her. It peters off into an exhausted, satiated groan, and she manages to pull her stiff fingers from between her legs and roll back onto her side. She pries open her eyes.

Lucifer is bare inches from her, watching her with awe and love and satisfaction. There is tension in his jaw, but it is overwhelmed by the measure of his joy, bursting from his eyes into starlight. He laughs, high and breathless and still _so_ wanting.

She manages to tear her eyes from his face, leisurely mapping his body, and, when her gaze falls between his legs, she remembers the game she had so thoroughly forgotten. He’s still hard, very obviously so, so hard as to be painful, even, but his smile, when she looks back up at his face, is free and easy and filled with a sparkling pride.

“I think this means I’ve won, Detective,” Lucifer says, too out of breath to sell the smugness he tries to impart to his tone, reaching for the towel beside the bed.

Chloe flops back to the sheets, breathing heavily, ears still filled with cotton, barely hearing him. He sighs contentedly and stands, and this she does take notice of, turning back onto her side to watch him. She’s pleasantly sore in the best of ways, sliding her legs against the soft, silky sheets. She clears her throat, and replies, “Yet, somehow I feel like _I’m_ the one who won.”

He smirks, but it is kind, and comes to the other side of the bed to brush her sweaty hair from her face and kiss her tenderly. The sudden contact, after what feels like such a long time without, is a shock to her weariness, and she finds herself hypersensitive, wanting him again.

“Being with you is always a victory,” he says warmly.

She hums, her heart aching for a different reason, now, and reaches for him, but he pulls away, practically skipping down the stone steps that lead to the rest of the penthouse. “I’ll get the strap-on, shall I?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer gets his reward for winning the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [Miah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miah_Arthur/pseuds/Miah_Arthur) for taking a look at this!
> 
> Happy Birthday, Vee!!!

“Are you sure this is what you want, Lucifer?” Chloe asks, leaning against one of the stone columns that frame the entrance to his bed, adjusting the straps on her thighs. “We didn’t set the terms. You could ask for, well, _anything_.” She feels a little off-kilter, as she normally does, with the heavy silicone cock between her legs. It’s his favorite, he’s told her, _repeatedly_. Black and sleek and, as he says, ‘thick enough to be getting on with’. Though it’s hard to feel awkward when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her with fire licking at his irises.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” he says in a rush, staring at her like she’s every dream he ever had.

When she approaches, he stands and meets her lips, and she revels in the ability to touch him again. He’s hungry for contact too, it seems, as he pulls her tight against him, lining them up so that every gentle motion of his hips rubs the base of the dildo against her clit, still sensitive from her earlier orgasm, from the heat in Lucifer’s gaze.

And she can feel his desperation in the slight shake of his body, feel how ardently he wants to let go already, but his hands are tender and sure against her back, painting heat down her spine.

She groans into his mouth, and he pulls back with a hiss, but only far enough to fall to his knees before her. He is a vision, running his hands over her thighs, looking up at her with lust darkening his eyes. He kisses the tip of the dildo, very deliberately, holding her gaze, and she shivers at the sight and from the slight pressure.

He parts his lips, and his tongue slips out to brush the silicone in a motion that is no less affecting for how well-practiced it clearly is. Her hips jerk forward, and he takes her cock into his mouth, eyes closing in bliss as he starts to suck softly. She bucks against his rhythm, back arching. She tangles her hand in his hair, and he moans, the vibrations running up the shaft.

She wants, suddenly, to tell him how he’s making her feel, and she realizes there’s no reason not to. The game is over, and she is again allowed anything she wants, as he makes abundantly clear every time she is nervous about sharing her desires.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she breaths, and his eyes flutter open to watch her.

She scratches his scalp, and he presses his head against her hand before winking, his lips pulling into a smirk as well as they can around the silicone. He rocks up a little higher on his knees and presses forward, taking her cock deep into his throat until he can nuzzle against her belly. He swallows repeatedly, and the rocking motion makes her sigh. She grabs him by the sides of his head and pulls him closer. He hums, and she loses herself to it for a moment.

But then she remembers her mission and pulls away. The cock is shiny when it parts from his mouth, and he whimpers softly, bereft.

“That felt a little different,” he says quietly, stretching his jaw but staying on the ground, looking up at her. And of course it did, she realizes—he’s not invulnerable here, not with her. His lips are a little swollen, and she tugs him back up, trying to soothe their ache, licking into his mouth. They stumble to the bed and fall together, laughing as they hit the mattress and bounce, but her chuckles turn to moans as he pulls her on top of him and kisses the vibrations in her throat.

She rubs against him, and he groans, reaching out to the bedside table. She scratches at his chest, straddling his abs. His hand trails down her side, slick now, and grips the dildo, stroking it, encouraging her to roll into him faster and faster.

But, again, she stops herself, pulling away, feeling the distance keenly. She finds the lube he got out on the table and grabs it, scooting down to the end of the bed. She takes a pillow that’s half fallen off the bed and, with his help, slips it under his hips.

She chuckles. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to _avoid_ your present, but why would you want to do that?”

He opens his mouth, and she presses two slicked fingers to him. He already loosened himself up earlier, and they slide in easily.

He chokes on his words and glares at her without heat before letting his eyelids slip shut and moaning softly.

She scissors her fingers, stretching him open, watching his face, waiting for a hint of pain, but all she sees is pleasure.

“I just want you to feel good,” he whispers when she pushes in another finger.

She climbs further up the bed, and he hisses softly at the change in angle. The flush is back, spreading down his body, but she’s allowed to touch, now, so she presses kisses to his stomach, to his chest, to his neck. “It feels good to make _you_ feel good,” she says against his skin. “Do you feel good?”

“I… Chloe, I—”

She twists her fingers.

“Bloody _Hell_, Detective.” He swallows shakily, and she watches his throat bob. She gently scrapes her teeth against his Adam’s apple. He hisses, tightening his fingers in the sheets hard enough she thinks they might tear.

She hums, pulling back enough to meet his gaze, tracing the twitching of his muscles with her clean hand. “Do you want more?”

“Yes.” He licks his lips.

She leans down to kiss him, hard, holding his lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “Say ‘please’,” she whispers into his mouth.

He blinks at her, and she thinks he’s not going to go for it, but then he inhales sharply and whines, “_Please_, Chloe.”

His hands settle at her waist, not claiming, not demanding, just resting there, trembling gently against her skin. His composure is gone, now, his hair falling against his forehead, his hips jumping as she slides down his body. Even absent stimulation, he seemingly can’t help the motion of his body, and she takes a moment to simply watch him, straining and needy, but still so beautifully passive.

“Please, please…” he mutters almost wildly, eyes taking the gentle light through the curtains and magnifying it.

And Chloe _could_ deny him, but the game is over, and what she truly desires is to care for him as he cares for her. To hold his light tenderly in her hands and feel it warm and flickering against her fingertips.

“I’ve got you,” she says, taking his hand while she slicks the dildo up further. “I’m here. I’m _here_.”

When she presses into him, as slowly as she can manage through her own desperation to be close, his back arches and his fingers tighten around hers. When their hips meet, she falls forward, forehead against his chest. She pants against his skin, overwhelmed less by the pressure against her clit than by the gentle motions she knows are Lucifer clenching around the dildo.

She gathers herself and tips her head up to meet his bleary gaze. “How are you doing?” she asks breathlessly.

“_Brilliant_,” he gasps. His head flops back to the pillows. “Darling?”

“Lucifer?”

He shifts his hips impatiently. “Please move.”

She nods, pulling herself up, grabbing his hips. They’ve done this a few times, but it’s still a little weird to try to find a good rhythm, though it’s made easier by how appreciatively he reacts, moaning and writhing against the sheets. She barely notices her own pleasure in the face of his—in the reverence on his face when she presses harder and harder. In the ache his increasingly loud cries evoke.

Her hands have settled on his lower ribs, and she feels breaths stutter out of him with her movements. There is such strength in him, she knows, she’s _seen_, but he lets it all go to feel her against him, without fear, without shame. He offers her the fruit, and, whether she’s allowed or not, she _will_ take a bite.

He hisses when she presses her teeth to his shoulder. His neglected cock throbs against her stomach where they’re pressed flush together, and he moans openly at the pressure.

“Chloe, Chloe…” he groans softly.

“You’re doing _so_ well,” she murmurs against his neck, and it seems to wreck him more than her rough, somewhat unsteady thrusts have.

“Am I...?” He pants. “Is it... good for you?”

“So good,” she manages between breaths, and feels him tremble beneath her.

She rises back up to improve the angle, and he works against her, now, grinding into the rhythm, finding what leverage he can against sateen sheets. He’s so open beneath her, so receptive, eyes wide and fixed on hers, flickering with flames, and she feels herself pulse with their thrumming. She scratches her fingernails down his stomach and forces words through her clenched teeth. “Do-do you want to come?”

“_Please_,” he says indistinctly.

She slows and cups his sweaty cheek with her clean hand. “What do you need?”

He blinks and focuses for a moment. “M-make me.”

She wonders if he’s expecting her to be rough with him, to slap his rosy cheeks, to grab him and jerk him harshly until he chokes on his own moans and falls apart under her hands. They have played these games—and she’s come to love them as she loves him—but she gets the sense that this isn’t about that.

So she brushes her thumb over his bruised lip and lowers her voice to as much softness as she can manage, resuming a slow, aching rhythm. “I love that you let me see you like this.” She trails her fingertips down his neck to the mark she left on his shoulder, to the darkening flesh on his sides and hips.

“I love that you allow yourself to be vulnerable with me.”

He hums hoarsely and reaches out for her. She catches his hand and brings it to her lips.

“I love _you_,” she whispers. “Let go, Lucifer.”

His eyelids flutter as he cries out, coming hard up against his stomach, his groan ending in a rough whine. He hisses her name, and she bucks her hips involuntarily, eyes falling shut, chasing her own rise. In this moment, nothing has felt better than the base of the dildo insistent against her clit. Than the heat of the body around her, legs pressed against her thigh, a hand in hers.

She clenches around nothing, feeling the glorious ache in her weary muscles. But she pushes harder, moves faster, seeking a beautiful high, taking all the pleasure she’s been offered. And when she finally loses herself, it’s with light singing in her veins and the taste of apples in her mouth.

And there is a glorious silence there, at the edge, in the knowledge that no matter how far Chloe may fall, Lucifer will always be there to catch her.

When she comes back to herself, she is sticky, exhausted, and deeply sated. She unfastens the straps around her legs, flings the strap-on off the bed, and collapses onto the mattress. She groans, from pleasure and from soreness. “I need a shower,” she mumbles into the sheets.

She feels Lucifer perk up from where he’s lying next to her. “Do you, now?”

“No,” she says immediately.

“No, what?” he teases gently, tracing her spine with his talented fingers.

“I do _not_ have the energy for— _Oh_.” She sighs, pressing into his hands where they massage at her aching muscles.

“Are you entirely certain?”

She works up the strength to sit up and glare at him. His still darkened eyes shine in the dying light, and she groans again. “Okay, _fine_.”

He practically leaps off the bed and pulls her into his arms, carrying them to the bathroom.

“Damn you,” she mutters against his shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to his skin.

He hums. “Been there, done that, got the bloody t-shirt, love.”

She sighs. He might yet end up being the death of her, but at least she’ll be happy when she goes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe has had bathrooms smaller than Lucifer’s shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [redledgers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers) and [SnufflesWrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnufflesWrites/pseuds/SnufflesWrites) for the beta help!

Chloe has had bathrooms smaller than Lucifer’s shower.

She’s been in here before, of course. Many times. But she’s not certain she’ll ever get used to the multiple showerheads, the discreet panel, allowing control of both temperature and flow, or the rather spectacular mood lighting.

The water is wonderfully warm when he carries her inside, engages one of his preset programs—he has several designed for the purpose—and steam begins drifting over her aching muscles. He sets her down, and she leans against the warming tiles, stretching out her back, her neck, rolling her shoulders. She’s glad to take this moment of rest.

She groans as his fingers slip down her spine again, trailed, this time, by an absurdly soft, soapy loofah. He rubs circles into her tense muscles, and she slumps further against the wall. His talented hands, still hot even over the shower water, brush the curve of her ass, but before she can press against him, he pulls away.

He sweeps her hair over her shoulder and steps closer to work his way up her back. He presses a kiss to the nape of her neck, and she sighs.

“Feels nice,” she mutters, too quiet, maybe, to be heard over the water, but he hums in acknowledgement anyway and presses his lips to her ear.

“May I turn you?” he asks softly.

She leans into him, murmuring her agreement, and she finds her back pressed into the tiles as he kisses her lips, her cheeks, her brow, bringing the loofah up to drag between the valley of her breasts, across her collarbones, and along the line of her throat so tenderly she shivers from the pressure.

When the soap has been washed away, he pulls back, and her eyes slip open to regard him. His hair is plastered to his head in a riot of flattened curls, water clings almost artistically to his eyelashes and chin, and he’s crouching before her—it’s almost like a dream, but his fingertips dip between her legs momentarily, and she knows from the gentle, pleasurable jolt that she’s awake.

But this isn’t about that, not yet, at least, and he bypasses where heat is already pooling to scrub at her hips and thighs and calves. When he reaches her feet, he lifts them slowly one at a time, running the loofah carefully over her arches and down to leave suds between her toes. He holds them under the spray for a moment before letting them back down.

He follows her newly clean skin back up, mouthing at her ankle bones and the sensitive spots behind her knees, and she widens her stance to grant him better access. She’s not, generally speaking, a great fan of shower sex, finding it more trouble than it’s worth. But here, with him, she never has to worry about falling.

He leaves gentle bites on her thighs, up over her hipbones, before sinking back down and licking a drop of water off her curls. His tongue glides along her clit, parting her lips with the surety with which he slipped past the gates of Eden, and her eyes fall shut again, her head thudding against the wall. And she is still sore, but _oh_ the ache is more than worth the careful burn of stubble on her inner thighs as he slides even closer, the glorious heat of his mouth when he sucks on her clit and rolls it with his tongue, the cleverness of his fingers as they come up to press against her entrance.

She moans something like his name, and he groans in response, slinging one of her legs over his shoulder before his free hand settles on her hip. He is never quiet about how he delights in this, humming his joy against her as two fingers slip inside, deep and filling.

She clenches around them, reveling in her ability to touch him, in his ability to touch her, and it’s hard to feel anything but pleasure as he brings her higher and higher. She grips his hair with one hand while the other wanders her chest aimlessly. When he adds another finger, thrusting into her, hard and steady, it becomes impossible to focus, to think at all, to do anything but roll her hips into his face and cry out wordlessly.

And she knows there’s no need to, so she simply gives into the buzzing in her ears, the frenetic pounding of her heart, and lets it all go, sagging against the tiles. But when she drifts back to reality, it’s to find his talented tongue replacing his fingers, his nose pressed firmly against her still tingling clit, and his hand gripping her thigh, encouraging her to rock against him.

An idle thought flits through her head that she’s not entirely certain how he’s breathing, but her mind goes delightfully blank again as her aftershocks start to slowly build into a new peak. He holds his tongue tightly to her g-spot and moans long and low, a calculated move to center the vibrations where she’s most sensitive. And there is such tenderness in how he holds her steady, and her hips jerk against his face.

“Oh, oh, _oh,”_ she groans with each breath, rising fast, and his fingers, still slick with her arousal, slide back, parting her buttocks, pressing ever so slightly, and she’s… and she’s…

_“Fuck,”_ Chloe whispers tersely, her leg slipping from Lucifer’s shoulder, her hand reaching up to press damp hair soaked with shower water and sweat from her face, to glide over her cheek, down to trace her lips, feeling everything inside her vibrate with the flood of endorphins.

He’s still crouched between her legs, licking her down from a less than holy Heaven, but at her exhausted chuckle he rises easily, kissing her, slipping his tongue past her teeth. He tastes like her, salt and sour on his lips, and also like his own desire, a darker flavor in her mouth.

She can feel his cock, hard and wanting against her hip, and she expects him to pull her into his arms, to pin her to the wall, to pull the apple from the tree and press it to her lips. But he does none of these, only guides her gently away from the tiles and under the spray.

The water is still gloriously warm, and she sighs as it cascades down her shoulders. He maneuvers himself behind her, kissing her neck again. She tilts her head back to wet her hairline, the showerhead raining a steady tattoo on her scalp. When her hair is fully soaked she makes to reach for her shampoo, but he stops her with a question.

“May I?” he asks, like it’s something sacred, and maybe it is. He’s still behind her, his breath hot against her ear, and she nods a little shakily. He lathers his hands, and his fingers thread through her hair. He is infinitely gentle, massaging her scalp, tracing the skin behind her ear, chasing suds down her back.

She loses time like this. Nothing seems real but him and her and _them,_ and the universe simply disappears. She doesn’t have to do anything but simply exist, in the gently flickering light, in the water falling to the tiles like rain, in his hands against her bare skin. A weight she often forgets is even there lifts from her shoulders with her hair as he parts it to press into her shoulders, her neck, loosening the tightness that never seems to truly leave.

She can give herself over to this, to _him,_ here, and it’s nothing like sacrifice. She’s not giving anything away, is, in fact, gaining something she can’t fully explain. "You know, this was what I was going to ask for if I won,” she tells him, leaning back into his hands.

He hums. "Something so simple?"

She nods. "Yeah, it's... nice." It's more than nice, but she doesn't have the energy to express how he makes her feel, taking care of her not like she can't do it herself, but like he uses his hands to express his love when even every word in every language isn’t enough.

He guides her under the water again and runs his fingers through her hair, washing out the shampoo. "I'd do it every day if you allowed," he whispers against the nape of her neck, the words almost lost to the spray.

She lets him take her weight, reaches out and pulls her conditioner from a shelf, pressing it into his hands. “You could do _more_ if you wanted,” she says quietly.

He hums again, so low it’s nearly a purr, nearly not a human thing at all, setting her nerves alight as his fingers return to her hair. He is efficient, working the cream through, rinsing her clean again, but when he reaches the ends of her hair, where it curls up just a little, he pauses, his hands lingering over her shoulder blades.

She turns in his arms and presses him back until he is up against the tiles. He is not splayed out on his bed while she drives into him, but is still so open for her, still so willingly vulnerable, the soft smile he gives only her painted on his face. With his hair a wild tangle, water dripping from his ears and nose and the short hair between his legs, she revises her previous statement.

Here, just like this, stripped of his ornamentation and the light of his favorite star, nothing in his eyes but love—he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

Her desire is a palpable thing, shimmering underneath her skin, and she takes his cock in hand a little roughly, now. She strokes up the shaft and over the head, and he jolts forward, pressing their foreheads together, a moment of tenderness consumed by the weight of her want. She draws him forward to stand in the center, between the showerheads. He smirks at her before he speaks.

“Was there something else you desired?”

She steps back, and he tries to follow her, but she holds out her hand. “Don’t move.”

He stops, and she watches a fine tremor pass over him. They have played this game before, too, but that isn’t quite what she’s after.

She circles him, and his eyes fall shut, his jaw going slack. He would stay like this for hours, she knows, if only she asked, if only she desired it. Would stand there until he was shivering, even _his_ shower long gone cold.

She stops behind him, watching the soft lights shift over his back, over the unblemished flesh where his scars used to lie. But she doesn’t move away, doesn’t leave him, only draws forward, up onto her toes to press a kiss to the nape of his neck. Kisses down his spine, over his shoulder blades. Means to wash away everything but the feeling of her lips on his skin. And he lets her, waiting, silent.

“There _is_ something else,” she says, and her hand trails down to the curve of his ass.

He straightens at that and chuckles lowly. “Again, Detective? You _are_ insatiable.”

She slaps him lightly, and his laughter turns into a groan. She grabs him by the shoulders, pulling herself up his back, making him feel her breasts and belly and thighs. “No,” she whispers into his ear. “I want you to return the favor.”

There is a moment when everything seems to stop, but then Lucifer spins in Chloe’s grasp, and in an instant she’s being turned around and pushed against the wall. His lips are at her ear again, and he hisses out a long breath. He is pressed against her, shoulder to ankle, and his teeth graze her earlobe. His hips jerk into hers, and she lets her cheek fall to the tiles.

“Is this what you desire, then?” he asks, and his voice is half a growl.

She rolls her hips back against him. _“Yes.”_

He draws away, and she shivers from the loss of heat for a moment before he drops to his knees and grabs her by the hips, pulling her back against his face. For a moment, she almost fears slipping, but he holds her steady with one hand while his other trails down her front, tweaking her nipples, painting heat over her belly, settling between her legs to tease her.

He licks a line over an ass cheek and between to where his fingers were earlier. She jerks in his grasp when he presses lightly against her entrance, and he pulls away enough to ask, “Is this alright?”

She chuckles breathlessly. “Yeah, yeah it’s…” She reaches back to tangle her fingers in his hair for a moment before she braces herself against the wall again. “Keep going.”

He kisses her, then, on the hip, slipping back down to tease her, his thumb marking out a slow rhythm. The pleasure isn’t as sharp as his mouth on her clit, but it’s mellow and rolls through her body like all-consuming waves, warming her. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue insistent against her, fingers slipping down to donate her wetness to his cause. Her fingers scramble on the tiles as she searches for purchase to grind into him. His hand leaves her for a moment, and she hears the opening of a cap. She chuckles again. Of course he keeps lube in his shower.

His fingers return slick, and he sets her on the floor, pulling back to give himself room. He massages at her with two fingers, and she chases his closeness. “Come on, just…”

“Patience,” he says with a smirk in his voice, and she groans.

“Lucifer…”

“Oh, did you want something?” he asks, standing, brushing a kiss against her hair.

“Don’t be an ass.”

He snorts. “I thought you _wanted_ me in your—”

She groans and rolls her eyes. “Will you—? _Oh.”_

He presses two fingers inside, and her breath stutters out. He reaches and pulls and twists, and she shivers, taking his clean hand, pressing her lips to his palm. When she starts to get impatient, pushing back against him, he scissors his fingers, and she gasps. He adds a third finger, and she draws his thumb into her mouth to bite.

His hand trails from her lips to her throat, grasping lightly, and she moans. “Please, _please…”_

He withdraws, again, and she lets out a whimper she’s too far gone to feel shame for. She has no fig leaves to hide her nakedness with, and she doesn’t want them, doesn’t want anything but the Devil at her back, slicking her up, slicking himself up. Fulfilling her desires, fulfilling his own.

He presses his cock to her, and she lets her head fall, again, against the tiles. She tenses for the briefest moment, but his lips are against her neck, her shoulder, scraping his teeth against her skin, and she lets herself relax.

“That’s it, darling,” Lucifer whispers. He huffs out a hot breath past Chloe’s ear, and his hand crawls over her hip, trailing down to stroke her clit. She clenches, again, but it’s the good kind, the kind that has her groaning as he slides deeper. Her pulse throbs against his fingertips when they slip down to press against her lower lips, and she moans his name.

His hips come flush against hers, and they sigh together. He’s panting in her ear, and she reaches back to tighten her fingers in his hair. She drags him forward until their bodies are pressed together, turning her head to bite at his chin and kiss up his cheek.

His face is wet from cleaning it, and she licks his lips, bucking her hips. “Come _on…”_

And he has no witty rejoinder this time, only groans into her mouth, trying a careful thrust, and their attempts at a kiss falter. They stare at each other, and he snaps his hips forward.

_“Hell,”_ they breathe, together. Another thrust, and his eyes slip closed. When he forces them open, his irises are roiling with flames. He starts up a slow rhythm, matching his strokes with the motions of his thumb on her clit, of his other fingers filling her shallowly.

She can feel the heat and strength of him, can feel the sweet friction of his cock tripping along her nerves, driving deep and filling. Her breasts ache, and her nipples tighten, and she reaches up, rolls them between her fingers. She bites her lip, and tastes blood and salt, light and the sweetness of apples, and it all brings her higher. And this is exquisite torture, dragging her to the edge, but it’s not enough. She lets her head drop, lets go of his hair, and braces herself against the wall and floor, grinding back with all her strength. He abandons the space between her legs, grabbing her hips hard, muscles rippling against her back as he presses close and hastens his pace.

The slap of their bodies together echoes against the tiles, though it’s almost drowned out by his increasingly loud groans. They are the deep and needy moans of before, but she doesn’t have to imagine him sliding into her. She has him, now, willingly takes anything he’ll give her. And she knows he’ll give her everything she asks for. Her toes curl against the tiles, and her eyes roll up in her head, but, still, it’s not enough.

She is whining out her breaths, but her keens are frustrated, and he drops kisses to her hair, down to her ear to whisper, “What do you need?”

His tenderness is at odds with his rough motions, and the dissonance is jarring in the best of ways. She grabs his wrist and pulls his hand back between her legs. She shivers and chokes on a breath, repeating his words back to him. “Make me.”

And she wasn’t rough with him, but this _is_ that kind of game, now. Is his hand digging into her hip almost hard enough to bruise, his fingers pressing inside as his thumb rubs an unsteady rhythm on her clit. He lifts her, pinning her against the wall, his whole body rolling into her as he thrusts, faster and faster.

As her eyes shut, the world is made fresh and new, and there is starlight pulsing in her veins. She arches with it, again and again, every muscle pulled taut. She wonders, with the part of her mind that’s not lost to white-hot pleasure, if she could fly like this. She wonders if she already is.

When Chloe comes back to herself, she’s curled up in Lucifer’s lap on the floor. The shower steam washes over her, and his fingers are in her hair, brushing it back from her face. He traces her cheekbone down to her lips, and she reaches up to take his hand, press a kiss to his palm. They stay there, together, for a long moment, not talking, just breathing. When she feels like her body might cooperate again, she hums and sits up, and the spell breaks.

They get up, and he brushes a kiss over her lips before they separate. They clean up in a companionable silence. With the endorphins slowly dissipating, she finds herself yawning and having trouble keeping her eyes open.

“I’ll get us some refreshments, shall I?” he murmurs, his fingertips trailing down her back for a moment before he leaves the shower to dry off. She stays in for a little while longer, letting the comforting spray fall down over her shoulders.

When Chloe emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, swamped by one of his unreasonably soft silk robes, it’s to find the sheets changed, a bottle of red wine decanting on the bedside table, and Lucifer, still casually and gloriously naked, holding a silver tray piled high with fruit.

He smiles at her, and she settles into bed, leaning over to pluck a blush-red apple and bite into it with a moan. Suddenly starving, she eats it down to the core before setting the leftovers on the table and falling back to the pillows.

She feels like she could sleep for a week, and she’s seriously considering it.

He sets the tray down, and stretches out next to her, kissing her casually, licking the juice from her lips. He tastes like peaches, and she moans again, tangling her fingers idly in his untamed hair.

“Did you enjoy our little game?” he asks softly, tucking a loose, recently blow-dried lock behind her ear, trailing his fingertips down her body over the robe.

She shivers. “Yeah, yeah I really did.”

He nuzzles her neck and kisses a spot behind her ear that makes her hum.

“And to think,” she says through a yawn, tipping her head to grin at him, “that all of this was just to give my lady parts a break from…” She waves vaguely at his groin, and he chuckles.

He rolls even closer, propped up on one arm, and his fingers become more purposeful in their movements, parting the silks and teasing her curls, gently stroking her clit. She’s still a little sore, but her traitorous body arches into the pressure.

“Do you think it’s had enough of a break?” he asks, voice low and suggestive.

She leans up, breaths deepening against his chest, reaches behind herself slowly, sensuously…

And shoves a pillow in his face. 


End file.
